


Maintenance Check

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some Drift/Perceptor sticky fluff based on this picture: http://buggy-love.tumblr.com/post/29155001617/goddamnitriot-happy-sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maintenance Check

“I kind of thought you were joking,” Drift laughed, twisting his wrists in the wire bindings. 

“Drift,” Perceptor said, frowning.

Drift laughed again. “Right. You. Not really big on jokes.” He squirmed, trying to look up at the bindings, trying to find the release or lock or knot. He had no idea what Perceptor had used. “Okay, you’ve made your point.”

“Not sure that I have, “ Perceptor said. “You need maintenance.”

“And I’ll get it! I’ll go in the morning. I promise.” The blue optics coruscated with earnest intensity.

Perceptor shook his head. “Something will ‘come up’.” Really, Drift was a child sometimes about seeing medics: the point where his desire not to be weak collided hard with common sense. 

One of the points, at any rate.

“You’re going to keep me tied up all night and drag me down there yourself.” Drift tried a stern frown.

“It’s an option, yes.” A smile quirked the corner of Perceptor’s mouth.

“Perceptor.”

“No arguing, Drift.” He cocked his head. “In fact.” The grin quirked a bit bigger.

“I-in fact?” Drift squirmed, rising onto one hip.

“I might do some preliminary examination myself.”

“You wouldn’t.” Drift curled up, tugging at the wires binding his wrists.

“It’s for your own good, Drift.” Perceptor could be strong when he needed, and he used that now, hooking one arm around Drift’s ankle, tugging it down to the edge of the berth. Metal scraped over metal, Drift’s spinal struts sliding down the berth. 

He thrust the knees apart, sliding one hand down Drift’s dark thigh. “I’ll start here.”

Air hissed through Drift’s dentae, his hips flattening on the edge of the berth. “Will you?” he asked.

“I don’t think you’re going to stop me,” Perceptor said, resting one palm flat over Drift’s interface hatch. He could feel the tingle of electrons through the armor, Drift excited almost in spite of himself.

“Maybe I just don’t want to.” Drift’s optics were glued to Perceptor’s hand, his hips rocking up into the touch.

“I should hope not,” Perceptor said, tracing one index finger along the seam of the interface hatch, feeling Drift shiver under the touch. He curled his smallest finger under the hatch’s release catch, popping it open. Drift squirmed at the click, trying to press his thighs together, stopped by Perceptor’s shoulders. 

“You could untie me,” Drift pleaded, his hands knotting themselves together over his head. 

“I could. I won’t.” Perceptor hooked a stool with one foot, dragging it over and settling down on it, between Drift’s legs. “Now. What have we here.”

Another squirm, but Drift didn’t try to close his legs again, letting them splay out to the sides. “My interface equipment.”

“Mmm. I see.” He ran a clinically cool hand over the equipment cover, masking the grin at the surge of heat behind the spike cover, the soft hiss of the pneumatics. “Functioning well?”

“Well enough.” Drift’s vents gave a huff of hot air. “No complaints, at any rate.”

“Hmm. Maybe your interface partner is just…polite.”

Drift sputtered, his hands jerking at the bindings. “Oh, no, I don’t think so.” He tried to pitch his voice sultry. “In fact, if you’d untie me…?”

“I don’t find that advisable.” His thumb circled the spike cover, coaxing it to release. “I hear some mechs are shy talking about their…insufficiencies.”

“Shy? I’ll show you shy.” He bucked up his hips, in mock outrage.

“I’m sure you will,” Perceptor said evenly. “Perhaps right now.” He tapped on the spike’s cover, causing it to click aside, the head of Drift’s spike jutting from the housing.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Drift said, with a wink down at his spike.

“Preliminary, only.” Perceptor forced his face into a frown, peering at the erect spike. It leaked glossy lubricant, aroused, stabbing into the air between them. “Hmmm.” He peered around the side. “Hmm.”

“What?” Drift tried to sit up, browplates furrowed, his abdominal servos engaging, until the bindings on his wrists dragged him down. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…this clearly requires closer investigation.” He slicked his thumb over the spike’s head, listening for the sharp sigh from Drift. 

“I….see.”

“You wouldn’t want me not to be thorough, after all.”

“Of course—not!” The last word ended in a squeak as Perceptor bent closer, taking the head of the spike in his mouth, circling the head with his glossa, while his hand curled down around the shaft. Perceptor gave a pleased little hum, feeling the actuators in the thighs tighten. He took more of the spike in his mouth, his glossa tracing the horizontal seams of the plates, fingers kneading at the spike’s base. 

“Perceptor!” Drift gasped. 

“Mmm?” His mouthplates curved into a smile around the spike as Drift shuddered.

Drift moaned, his bound wrists rolling over each other. “Let me go, Perceptor.” 

He lifted his head off the spike, slowly, his glossa tracing a long, swirling trail off the head. “Why?”

“Because I can’t do much like this.” His hips squirmed on the edge of the berth, one footplate sliding over Perceptor’s pauldron, seductively. 

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” Perceptor said, bending toward the spike, letting a cool draft of air waft around the spike’s head. And he looked up Drift’s body, the sinuous writhing chassis, the ardent blue of his optics, his own vulnerable desire written large on his face. He wanted Drift like this, he wanted to give Drift something, no matter how small, the selfish selflessness of bringing your partner pleasure, with no thought of your own desire.  


Drift gave a shuddering sigh, mouth parting, trembling, and curving slowly into a smile. “All right,” he said, dropping his head back, his hands, in their bonds, fluttering in surrender, his chassis heaving with desire as Perceptor bent forward over his spike again, the contact between them hot, electric and running a current far deeper than physical.


End file.
